


Demonic (ENG)

by NaitiaClo960



Series: Suptober 2020 (ENG) [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Blood Addict Sam Winchester, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Scared Dean Winchester, Suptober 2020 (Supernatural), Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26791885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaitiaClo960/pseuds/NaitiaClo960
Summary: The situation could have been worse. He could have had to defuse a bomb in less than ten seconds as in one of these action films, or even prevent a tsunami from destroying the continent. Really, Dean had something to be happy about, it was a Sunday afternoon like any other in the Winchester’s life. Here, it was simply a matter of escaping his little brother who wanted to kill him.[Suptober, day 3
Series: Suptober 2020 (ENG) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951687
Kudos: 24
Collections: Suptober 2020 (ENG)





	Demonic (ENG)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Fortunately, I'm always a little ahead of the list, hopefully it will last :). This is day three of the Suptober taking place in season 15. Thanks again and again to Amber for her precious help <3  
> Enjoy!

The situation could have been worse. He could have had to defuse a bomb in less than ten seconds as in one of these action films, or even prevent a tsunami from destroying the continent. Really, Dean had something to be happy about, it was a Sunday afternoon like any other in the Winchester’s life. Here, it was simply a matter of escaping his little brother who wanted to kill him.

"Dean! Stop running like that, I just want to talk." Sam’s dangerously cold voice rose in the corridors of the bunker. "For now."

Dean took a sharp turn behind the engine room and arrived in the boiler room. He closed the door as quietly as possible and locked a chair under the handle as a thin bulwark against his psycho baby brother.

The hardest part to process in this strange situation was probably that Dean definitely didn’t know _why_ he was facing it in the first place. Just yesterday, he was drinking beers with Sam in front of a classic _Indiana Jones_ and now, his brother was addicted again to demon blood and trying to kill him. He had no rational explanation for all this except that he may have ended up going nuts. Was it a nightmare? He did not remember falling asleep. A hallucination in this case? But why now, in the safety of their home?

Unless all this comes down to Chuck still trying to mess with them, pushing all their buttons with sordid visions of each other one after another. Dean, however, did not want to believe that all this was real. Sam was all he had lately. He was still on bad terms with Castiel, his stubbornness being the death of him someday, and the grief that weighed on his shoulders threatening to crush him at every moment.

"Dean!"

Poundings on the door. Clenching his jaw, Dean glanced around him hastily before he focused his attention on the air vents. So the situation was as desperate as it seemed. Sam had blocked the main entrance, Dean knew that for trying to escape a first time and almost died. In a desperate rush to escape his brother’s death trap, he had had to jump from the balcony of the war room, explaining why he was now limping towards the air vents.

He couldn’t stay here, he had no plan and certainly no desire to hurt Sam, no matter what his brother’s intentions were toward him. Dean had to take a step back, lock his younger one in the bunker and think of a concrete strategy to save him. Maybe he could ask the girls for help? Apologize to Castiel? A violent blow to the door took him out of his thoughts and, after an anguished look at the wooden partition, Dean began to stack a few pieces of furniture to access the overhead ventilation.

The next impact was followed by a sinister snap of wood and Dean turned his head towards the door. At the center of it was now a large crack that revealed Sam’s twisted face. Dean was convinced that this expression would add to his many nightmares, although he was still not sure if he was in the middle of one of them now. Sam’s smile is widening.

"Ring a bell?" He teased before moving away to rip the door open a bit more.

Dean’s heart skipped a beat as he thought back to that damned time when he had been the one destroying a door with a hammer while Sam tried to escape him, black eyes on his face. But, like his brother at that time, he could not bring himself to face Sam and risk engaging in a mortal struggle with him. With his heart pounding down his throat, Dean stacked another chair on a desk before starting to climb his wobbly construction.

As he tried not to fall, he still heard Sam slamming against that door by the sheer force of his fists and feet. Once at the top, Dean began to dismantle the grid and the idle fan, cursing against the stubbornness of the screws. A flash of relief surpassed that of adrenaline when he managed to clear the air passage, but his victory was short-lived. There was no more noise behind him.

With a knot in his stomach, Dean turned to realize that Sam had entered the room, his eyes fixed on him.

\- "Dammit!" Dean shouted before trying to rush into the ventilation, head first.

He was half-engulfed in the opening, his dislocated hip giving him a hard time, when he felt a powerful hand gripping his ankle. The grip was so strong that Dean was convinced it would leave a mark. Suddenly and despite his kicks, he felt himself being violently pulled back. With no grip inside the vent, Dean slipped once, twice before Sam grabbed him by the belt and pulled him out of that metal tunnel.

Thrown on the ground at least three meters below, Dean let out a yelp of pain as he felt his wounded hip dislocating further. Nevertheless, he did not have time to feel sorry for himself, feeling his brother’s hands come back on him to keep him on the ground. In an annoying grunt, Dean tried to flip-flop and punched his brother in the jaw. Sam simply smiled, taking it and barely moving. Dean opened wide helpless eyes.

"We both know how things are going to end, but I appreciate the effort Dean." Sam smirked.

"No!" Dean cried out in a hoarse voice. "It’s not real Sammy, you have to resist, you have to-"

Suddenly, Sam grabbed Dean by the neck and stuck his nails into his skin, strong enough to draw blood. Dean stopped talking, swallowing a complaint of pain.

"You see, it is real! Spare me your great martyr speeches this time, Dean, I don’t want your ‘I’m your big brother and I love you’ remake." Sam’s voice was filled with venom. "The sooner you stop fighting what’s bound to happen, the better for everyone."

The first punch came out of nowhere, colliding with Dean’s cheekbone and sending pain waves into his face. At the third, Dean seemed to come out of his drowsiness and tried to reverse the situation around, but it was clear that Sam was more than determined to dominate the fight. The beatings kept coming, so Dean had stopped counting, while his brother kept spitting unbearable truth in his face.

"So pathetic!" Sam shouted, raising him by the neck to the nearest wall, Dean collapsing into his grip. "Fight, strike back!"

Dean shook his head through the pain, unable to beat Sam as he was going through it himself. He had often wondered how he would die and, although the ideal scheme would be to leave a gun in the hand, the possibility of dying from his younger brother whom he had raised and protected all his life was the most unbearable.

"N-no…" Dean struggled to articulate, his face already swollen with blood.

Sam replied with another scream of rage and Dean couldn’t recognize the being in front of him. Sam was usually so different, so… composed and honest. He was loyal to his own principles, always here to help and share his pragmatic spirit. Sam was also, deep down, that person broken by life who was startled at the slightest too loud sound, that force of nature that never stopped seeing the good in people, even when it was not obvious. He was his little brother, his reason to fight, and he would never accept that Sam Winchester had now become a violent and sadistic demon. Dean shook his head again.

Annoyed by Dean’s passive behavior, Sam tightened his grip on him and, after a brief silence, had a rictus.

"All right… I guess I’ll have to show you why fighting is useless by myself."

Dean barely reacted, presumably having accepted his fate. If Sam was gone, there was no reason for him to remain a hero on this earth. With a sharp movement, Sam’s eyes fixed on Dean’s, he released him with one hand to search the inside of his jacket. Quickly, a pocket knife came out and he smiled again.

"Take one to know one…" He whispered.

Suddenly, the younger released his second hand by putting Dean on the wall with his forearm. Sam dangerously close to his face, Dean did not lose a thing when his brother cut the inside of his hand. A glance at Sam confirmed Dean’s fears and his confused expression gave way to fear. _No_.

"Sam-

"You chose this, Dean. Everything that leads us here, it’s your fault." Sam replied.

Immediately, Sam pressed his bloody hand against Dean’s mouth, forcing him to keep his jaw open. Dean repelled to the taste of warm blood coming to soak his lips and pour in his mouth, uttering a groan of frustration and anguish. No matter how hard he tried not to swallow, Sam kept filling his mouth with this infamous liquid that turned his stomach.

Could he end up like Sam if he swallowed that blood? Another Azazel protégé? Or maybe he was just going to die, sent back to Hell while he let the world perish. What the hell could he do about that anyway?

Worn out, Dean swallowed and closed his eyes.

"DEAN!"

He reopened his eyelids in a start, feeling the sweat on his back. A panicked look around him informed him that he was now in the library, sitting at a table. Sam was on his right, with a hand on his shoulder and a worried face. Dean looked into his brother’s sweet, frantic gaze.

"Dude, I don’t know what you were dreaming of…" Sam smiled gently. " But… you drooled on the table."

Dean frowned before looking at the wood, a small glistening puddle of saliva on the surface. With a quick gesture, he wiped the corner of his mouth, his fingers brushing the place covered with blood a few moments earlier.

Sam wasn’t fooled, and Dean knew his brother realized he was having a nightmare. The joke was only there to defuse the situation, Dean visibly still tense and confused, but Sam was kind enough not to ask. Dean could still feel the metallic taste of blood in his throat…

"… Do you want a mop?" Sam asked while pressing a little harder on his older brother’s shoulder, a discreet but necessary support.

"Shuddup." He groaned, leaning back in his chair, sighing slightly.

Dean turned his attention to Sam again, chasing the ghosts out of his nightmare, and when his brother let out a small innocuous laugh, Dean was able to imitate him. _They were there for each other_.

**Author's Note:**

> A little brotherly love (and hatred) for today. Remember to leave a kudo or a comment to tell me if you liked it, it’s always really important for the writer :)  
> See you tomorrow!


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